Friendship in Pottery


Written by Septia.


Forun let her fingers pace across the brim of the urn, polishing off indents with scrubs along her pat. 
	“Mm, mmm, mmhmmm, hmm?” She hummed a mumble, turning the urn in front of her, inspecting it, taking eye measurements with scrutiny to how it would hold up. -Gbhrrlglsh- Her abdomen rattled in her lap. The oknytt pat her tummy as a smile bloomed. 
	“You'll see. It is big enough to fit all comfy, for a good friend.” Forun stood -Bhwbwblglsh- her stomach lagging behind her, a wide load of belly blubber, dipping down in the form of a dune from her abdomen. She swirled in pace and slumped back over, tipping her exposed posterior onto the urn -Smmrfth- a shove of displaced clay came as her weight adjusted over the brim. Forun cradled her tummy within her embrace, jostling it in her grasp to let her palms reach far back under the luscious bulk of tummy dough, 
	“We've grown close enough to become real friends,” Forun ensured, the sagging meat sack sloughed over her knees. 
	-Bbrlglgsh- -Bffrrrrwwrth- A grumble culminated in a bass tone, amplified down the confines of the urn, the smog swirling through to ooze up as steam through the girl's crack. 
	“Glad, I am so glad to. Hearing you agree.” She said, taking in a deep breath t, and compressing her arms to her side in a strain, groaning so her cheeks puffed up in her efforts… “Mmfrrg…” 
	-Pffrrirfth- The fumes whistled through her rear, bearing heavy tones of meat as hr. Within the confines of the clay cup laid Forun's pucker, nestled between buns pushing up on either side — the pucker protruding and recoiling in thick crinklings of booty grease -Chrrks- -Chrhslp-. The pit which the circle of flesh encompassed broadened with rougher efforts, each -Chhrrlskt- jut distending the limits of tithe roguse ridges, a peak within to glance at a field of brass. 
	“Mfm, mmf… phuu, it is, mm… it is alright to be a bit stale at first, though once you've warmed up to us being really, really friends,” Forun cooed to herself as she scooted to and fro, spreading her cheeks to dip over the side of the urn and cleave the gap around her brim, “I know you'll, warm up t be to it.” She asserted with a sharp inhale. 
	-Chrrpstsh- Her brim bulbing wider, filling out in the excess of space, and the bronze expanse blossoming from the clasping petals of booty flesh -Chhrrllstpsh- the crinkling of fetters of bowl lube threading off the walls of her colon, its tunnels relinquishing the mound of raw sewage nougat protruding free from the oknytt's caverns. 
	“Hawoooff,” Forun let out a warm sigh, her whole body easing in to the motion of sloping forwards, her cheeks peeking up over the opposite end of the urn as her pucker disgorged the load around the curving pillar of umber silt. 
	The girth of muck buffed apart the girl's cheeks, pucker gaping as wide as her bicep and still teetered on the very cusp of the width of the tummy baked bile. -Chrlrlslp- -Chfhrlss- Crucibles and smears of the soft-serve gelato rippled from her cheeks,, as the fat loaf of chocolate bill-mousse billowed through her congested mud-cheuthe. -Ghrrklst- -Cnnrgs- Their stomach condensed, reeling back in from the tautened drove of a stuffed abdomen, stretchmarks waxed over along her the precipice of her muffin tops from the weight dispensing out her hind. -Sflltddwmpth- The manure plastered onto the bottom of the clay pot -- the warm gunk meeting with the drying pottery. -Smmwfpfths- The initial loaf bend over the bottom, plastering into the wall of the urn and sloughing along the interior in a languid slog, Umber mulch gradually bulldozing flat into the walls of, -Clssm- melding in with the muck beneath it as it arched from the pressure of the mire piling on from above. 
	“Mmf hhhm,” Forun hummed and huffed, angling her legs so her feet soles brushed against the ground at the end of her pot, massaging into her tummy and feeling the droves and imprints moulding out in her gut subsided the more tar-caramel her rear deposited. The floorboards laid smoothed and damp 
	“Phoo, it takes alot mfms, of effort to become friends, have to make sure as much of you as possible mmf, coils up in the urn, think you can tuck yourself in tighter back there?” She wondered and curled up her toes as her pucker splayed over a knuckle thick globule of filth -Chhrlrlsrth- -Cbltplths- -Fbrrffwpppfwfth- A cloud of fog funnelled through once the clog slogged free, her pucker kept from pinching in the onslaught of fumes with the smog leaving the urn rustling in echoes. 
	“Oh, appreciate that, you feel so much bigger than you looked now that I have mm, gotten to know you better.” Forun sighed to herself and wiggled on thon the urn. 
	Her pucker contracted, reeled in, then gradually bulbed outwards as a gumbubble the pink flesh sundering into her furrowed pucker clamping around the haggard bale of gruel winding its way through the taut flesh. Crevice thin crevices across the mound was smoothened over as it passed through the plump gate of the buffering brim. The occasional -Fppfrth- rustle of gas unleashing the tight grip and letting segments of the gunk matted in their cragged texture of cracks. Scratches gained through the journey of Forun's internals. Deeper furrows stood out, jagged coal streaks carved in the muddled tube of bowel fudge, sprouting and forking over the mound of glistening filth to detail the mounds that segments of chyme that had been backed and melted together through the course throughout the intestines. chirps- flaps of felt and fabric brushed over Forun's pucker, the scraps of clothing wedged the packed filth… bundles of cloth stuffing loaves and so their surface fissures sprawled and engorged over the congested mire, as the girl allowed them to plunge from her rear. -Shchbgllwtpghs- Folded cloth unfurled in a smoother stretch of clotted gruel, the arm of a jacket sloping down tight chunk of manure filth that -Smmpttsh- smacked into the grime below and was covered by the curls of a baked friend dough decanting form the cheeks above. 
	“Phoo, You turned out real clumpy, friend,” she mumbled and smoothed her palms over her stomach. The behemoth of a belly diminished to a few comfy rolls of chub, letting her arms roam down along her side and hook around her rear, massaging into it and hoisting them up for a -Pprbrhrooth- flush of fumes sneaking out around the obese mud snake. Forun stood, reeling up a segment of the snake with her, keeping her cheeks parted as the muck spooled free from her pit. -Chhr- Her brim pinched through the muck, severing the pillar to -Ssllwths- clasp into the mulch below, curved for the languid heap of interconnected tangles, fissures melding into one another and the visage of the slop steaming as it accumulated to the air, taking on a matching umber hue to the auburn clay- 
	“Haha~ You made it all the way through you filled the whole thing, any amount would do, but this makes it so much more friend to carry around.” -Sspssth- a faint huff of fumes plumed through her cheeks, the gas swathing over the urn surface of the muck to smooth it out in the flush of heat, patches of polished bronze interlocking with the network of fractures. 
	“Mm, feels there is a bit some sticking around still? Well, I do need more clay for the next urn too, so that, was very, kind, friend~.” She sunk her palms into her tummy, strutting off to relieve the remains still lounged in her bowls. 
	Forun clutched the urn tight to her frame. The heat of friendship radiated from the underneath the ceramics, the air a heat which lingered. “You feel warm enough to cuddle for a hundred nights,” Forun complimented the urn, lugging it over towards a makeshift shelf in the attic, stashing it up next between two other similar works of tall pottery, Forun took a moment to stand back and admire her work, she was accruing a small collection of friends, though there was still space on the shelves. 
	A bolt of lightning cracked in the distance. She felt a drop land in her hair, a breeze wisp through the gaps in the isolation. She wrapped her arms around herself, muttering. “Good thing too, I am going to need some friends to make it through the night I could really use your help to get through the night,” she explained and pulled down urn after urn down to use for her bedding, keeping them close, safe, and warm.


~ 1 ~


Ylva peered up from breakfast, mouthful of cereal, dripping down her chin. There was a tapping, something on the floor above, it rattled and tumbled… “Who could… what is…” She mumble, attempting to keep her head clear ah she hurriedly chugged down the rest of the breakfast, and picked up a rolling pin I one hand, her phone in the other as she went upstairs to investigate. Following the origin of the sound, she made her way to outside the laundry room. She gathered a few breaths, and then tore up the door. “
	“Ok who du think you are doin-…”
	Inside was a young woman, standing in a tussle of washed laundry, trying on clothes that had a baggy posture on her torso. 
	“Ahaha ai… I m…” the girl said, her tone meandering away, though her lips still mimicking words. 
	“Who, are you?” Ylva wondered, something about the woman's, frailty let her lower her intensity. 
	“I am Fo-for… an… and “ she mumbled again. “I am just, looking for, someone to stay with, for a little while, I… have nothing.” 
	Ylva raised an eyebrow. “You have no friends to stay with?” 
	“The girl looked up, but then her face slacked. 
	Ylva let her arm limp by her side in a long sigh. “I sympathize, though I don't condone your methods. But, lets start fresh, alright?” she said and then put down the her pin and phone, holding a palm to her chest. “My name is ylva, what is yours,” she asked and reached out the same hand, “want to be friends?” 
	The girl's eyes caught an ember of hope, twinkling in the depths of her pupil. 
	“F-Forun… yes…”